


Yes, No, and Maybe: Three Winter Stories

by Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Snow, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Three short triple-drabble length stories, each featuring a different pairing.
Relationships: Beleg Cúthalion/Túrin Turambar, Edrahil/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	1. Windswept

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaisingCaiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/gifts).



> The request as I received it:
> 
> Dear @z-h-i-e,  
> Thanks for getting involved in Tolkien Secret Santa! You will be making a gift for @raisingcain-onceagain. They would like a fic as a gift and their favourite characters/ships are: Beleg, Turin, Maedhros, Fingon, Edrahil for characters, and Beleg/Turin, Maedhros/Fingon, Edrahil/Fingon for ships. In terms of preferences and prompts, they said: “Please no mpreg, modern!AUs, or noncon between main pairing please! Otherwise, I love established relationship fics, and a fluffy kind of take on winter would be amazing, with characters spending time together watching snowfall, reflecting on the year, something like that. But really, that’s kind of just a thought and whatever you make is sure to be amazing! And any rating is good!”. They are okay with NSFW for this exchange.
> 
> I latched onto Edrahil/Fingon immediately because I love writing some rarepairs when I can get them. A few days before the pieces were due, I realized that this might have been a typo, and it might have been intended to be Edrahil/Finrod. So this is one of two selections written for the exchange -- the first being 'Borealis' (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961849) which features Edrahil/Fingon, and this being the second, where I ended up substituting in an Edrahil/Finrod story for the third vignette in case that was what was actually meant to be requested. Enjoy!

“Is this the first time you have seen snow?”

The deep rumbling words snapped Fingon out of his private reflective thoughts. He was standing on the threshold of Formenos, covered in frosty flakes which made him appear to sparkle in the starlight. “Yes,” he said as Maedhros approached him. Fingon watched with amusement as his breath was visible before him, twirling puffs of mist on the wind. “Does this happen often?”

Maedhros swept his way across the snow-covered path, no less impressive than he was when Fingon had last seen him in Tirion three years prior. His tall black boots clicked on the ice and stone. “Every few days we have a dusting. Carnistir predicts there will be a blizzard within a week that will close off the passes.” He stopped an arm’s length away.

“And how long does the pass remain closed?” asked Fingon as he closed the distance between them. He had traveled by foot, against the advisement of his parents, because he had heard that the wind caused slippery footing unsafe for horses. He also realized, as he looked upon Maedhros, that he had underestimated the need for layers and outerwear. Maedhros had an impressively thick red cloak, hooded and lined with black fur. Fingon shivered at the wind blew and fluttered his light cape behind him. He tried to pull it closer, but it was whipped from his hand by the elements and he fought to keep it from being ripped from his shoulders.

The heavy crimson fabric was lifted up slightly and draped around Fingon before the next gust disrupted them. Huddled in the warmth of the same cloak now, Maedhros looked down at Fingon and said, “It can take several months before the snow melts.”

“Then if Carnistir is correct, you will be stuck with me for a while,” Fingon whispered as the wind swirled the snowflakes around them.


	2. Warmth

“Is this the first time you have seen snow?”

Túrin peered upwards. His lashes fluttered as the flakes gently assaulted his vision. “Maybe. Much of what I remember as a child was my mother and Lalaith. And my friend, Sador. There might have been snow, but if there was, I cannot recall.” He shivered and pulled his cloak closer, giving Beleg a sideways glare. “It seems pointless to me. For you, it is little more than an inconvenience. For me, prolonged exposure could be deadly.”

“You speak of the cold, not of the snow. The snow just gives ambience to the cold.” Beleg reached his arm out from the protection of the shallow cave that they were sitting in. They had traveled through the snow during daylight, but the evening hours also brought winds. Falling snow was one thing, but snow flying at them horizontally led to them making camp early. 

“Ambience to freezing? That sounds like a very elfy thing to say,” grumbled Túrin.

Beleg chuckled. “Perhaps it is. And how silly that an elf be elfy.”

Túrin snorted and tried to burrow further.

“Here Perhaps this will help warm you,” suggested Beleg. He swung his cape around so that it encompassed them both. “Does that make it better?”

“Hardly,” grumbled Túrin.

“Perhaps this, then, will warm you,” said Beleg, and he turned and kissed Túrin’s cheek. 

Túrin raised a brow as he studied Beleg. 

“Hmm. I thought that would help,” Beleg said with a hint of remorse. 

“Not quite.” Túrin kept still for a time as Beleg brushed a few errant snowflakes from his knee. Slowly, he gained Beleg’s attention by reaching up to touch his cheek with two fingers, and when Beleg was facing him again, Túrin roughly took hold of Beleg’s chin and pressed their lips together. “Better,” said Túrin as he parted from Beleg and let go of him. 

“If that pleases you, I have much more to teach you,” said Beleg softly. 


	3. Etiquette

“Is this the first time you have seen snow?”

Edrahil looked up from his embroidery. “No, Your Majesty. We saw snow in abundance when we traveled across the Helcaraxë.”

“Of course. I...suppose I have tried to put that journey out of my mind,” mused Finrod. They were at Minas Tirith, on Tol Sirion. Edrahil had convinced him to visit his kin who now resided here and take respite from court in Nargothrond. Finrod sat down upon the stone window seat where Edrahil was perched. Outside, the wind swirled the flakes around in the air, seemingly not quite allowing them to reach the ground. He watched the snow attempting without success to cover the ground with more than a mere dusting and said, “You do not need to call me ‘majesty’. You of all people have dispensation not to.”

“And that is exactly the reason I must--is it not proper etiquette? Should I not be a model for the behavior in your kingdom?” Edrahil only glanced up briefly, for he continued his work on the piece he was crafting. It was a dark canvas, midnight blue, and on it he was depicting geese flying against the moon over a lake and trees. Finrod had asked about it several days earlier; it was Dorthonion, Edrahil had said.

“Indeed, etiquette is important, but I want you to know that I value you greatly, and I would not be displeased if you called me by my name when we are alone like this.”

A smile tugged at Edrahil’s mouth. “I think I call you by your name quite often when we are alone.” He glanced up smugly as he drew the needle through, but a moment later cursed his luck and lifted his pricked finger to his lips to suck upon the wound.

“Allow me,” insisted Finrod, and he raised the finger up to his lips, kissing the tiny puncture once before he moved to the back of Edrahil’s hand to his wrist and up his forearm. Soon Edrahil was in Finrod’s lap, both the snow and the embroidery forgotten. It was not long before they learned that the window seat was long enough and wide enough to accommodate a king and his most loyal subject. 

“Oh! Your Majesty!” groaned Edrahil as Finrod bit at his throat and grinded against him.

“On second thought...I find I like it very much when you call me that,” said Finrod. 


End file.
